Never Had Nobody Like You
by threesugars
Summary: AH/AU. Two-Shot. Damon Salvatore has a strong aversion to his hometown's annual carnival, but can a certain 5ft tall brunette change his mind?
1. Part One

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Vampire Diaries or any of its characters.**

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In the southwest of Virginia, smack dab between Roanoke and Bedford, lays a small, picturesque town; take a left after Wickery Bridge and then follow the yellow brick road straight to the fucking _Stars Hollow_ wannabe that was once my hometown - Mystic Falls. Sounds like a far-away-land straight out of a fairy tale where the only residents are goblins and ghouls, ready to suck out the souls of children, doesn't it? Yeah, in reality, it's much, _much_ worse. Instead of goblins and ghouls, you get the charming townsfolk, and instead of sucking out your soul, they subject you to a town event every two minutes.

You might be thinking, _gee, Damon, what could be so bad about a town event every now and again? _And it is that naïve comment that makes it abundantly clear to me that you've never attended a Mystic Falls town event. Not one Founder's Ball or Decade Dance or Masquerade Ball or Sexy Suds Car Wash in all your damn life. (Okay, that last one wasn't _that _bad.) The _pièce de résistance _- and I say that with a bad French accent and heavy sarcasm - of town events, however, is the annual Mystic Falls High School carnival. Organized by students for the entire town, the carnival was one event that I dreaded every year growing up. A whole day where the town square was chock full of little kids, their hands sticky from cotton candy or toffee apples or whatever the hell else you give kids to get them to shut up, whilst their parents stuck them on enough rides to tire them out; that way, their little terrors would fall straight to sleep when they got home, and that left them with a few hours of peace, quiet, and longing for the life they left behind before they popped out a couple of offspring.

It wasn't like I could just skip it, either, because Stefan - my brother, younger than me by two years - _loved_ it, which meant that every goddamn year up until I was 16, I was forced to play chaperone and follow him from the bumper cars to the Tilt-A-Whirl to the Roll-O-Plane for four hours straight. As soon as he was old enough to go by himself, I swore that I'd never go again. When high school girlfriends begged me to go and win them a bear? I scoffed and said hell no; I'd had enough of that carnival to last me a lifetime.

Yet here I am, 12 years later, getting ready to go for the first time in over a decade.

"I'm too old for this shit," I mutter as I lean an elbow against the kitchen counter and cross one foot over the other.

"Oh, chill out, Murtaugh." Alaric's in the middle of his living room, changing his kid's diaper.

Alaric's my - for all intents and purposes - best friend. Not that we've ever _called_ each other that; it's more of a silent agreement we've had going since our second semester of college.

"I still don't understand why I have to go," I say, itching for some Jim Beam; I could do with some to get through tonight.

"Because Jenna is sick, so she can't go, but this is Lydia's first carnival since being born. That and the fact that _you_ desperately need to get out of the house, so you're just gonna have to suck it up," he says, lifting his 11-month-old from her changing mat and placing her in the hexagon-shaped cage that I don't know the name of.

"I could get out of the house without going to the carnival."

"What, by going to The Grill and picking up a chick?" Alaric scoffs. "In case you've forgotten, Casanova, you're staying here, and there's no way in hell you're bringing back some girl to feel up in our guest bedroom."

"Feel up?" I stare at him blankly. "What am I? 15?"

"We both know you were doing a hell of a lot more than feeling girls up at 15."

I just smirk in reply; he had a point.

Cutting my eyes over to Lydia, I stop smirking to let out a groan. "We're gonna look like two gay dads."

"What's wrong with that?" Alaric asks, making his way into the kitchen to dispose of the dirty diaper - which, I don't mind saying, is emitting an ungodly stench. "Quit being so homophobic."

"I'm not being homophobic; I don't care if people think I'm gay. It's the part where they'll think I'm with _you_ that worries me; I could do so much better."

Before he can reply, his wife appears in the living-room doorway; her honey blonde hair is piled on top of her head, and she's wrapped in a ratty, blue bathrobe. Her nose is red, her green eyes are dull, and she's hunching over worse than Quasimodo.

"My, Jenna, don't you look ravishing this evening." I grin at her.

She pulls a Kleenex from the box on the coffee table, shooting me a glare as she does so.

"You feeling any better?" Ric asks as she shuffles into the kitchen. I have to suppress a smirk when I catch sight of the bunny slippers she has on her feet.

She just shakes her head before folding the tissue and blowing her nose into it. _Loudly_. I'm pretty sure I even saw Lydia jump from the corner of my eye.

"Are you sure you want us to go tonight?" Ric asks concernedly, a frown marring his forehead. "I can stay home; we can just take Lydia next year."

I don't think I've ever wanted to kiss somebody more than I do in this moment. God bless Alaric Saltzman and his overprotective nature as a husband.

"No, you go," Jenna insists, and my hope deflates quicker than a horny teenage boy's blow-up doll. "Besides, I don't want Lydia to get sick; I'm trying to stay as far away from her as I can, but she could easily catch this by being in the same house as me."

"Okay, fine, but I'm taking my cell, so ring me if you need me," Ric informs her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

I roll my eyes. "She's got a cold, Ric; she's not _dying_."

I get two simultaneous Saltzman glares for that one. I raise my eyebrows and hold my hands up in surrender.

"Get him out of here before I hit him," Jenna mumbles, her head pressed against Ric's chest.

Ric shakes his head at me, but I know he's trying to suppress a smile. He squeezes her arms lightly before moving to grab Lydia's baby bag off a bar stool.

"We'll be back in an hour," Ric tells her, walking over to get Lydia from her baby prison cell.

"Take pictures," she tells him. "The camera is in her bag."

"I will," Ric assures her, collecting his cell phone from the coffee table and shaking it at her.

"I also have my cell phone with me." I flash Jenna my iPhone as I back out of the kitchen. "So if you find yourself missing me, which I know you will, just know that I'm only a phone call away."

"Be sure to look for a Zoltar Speaks fortune teller while you're there." Jenna glowers. "Wish to be big. Might finally turn you into an adult."

"But I'm already big." I waggle my eyebrows at her with a smirk, and her face immediately screws up.

"Ugh! You're gross!" she says in disgust, throwing her balled up Kleenex towards me; I narrowly dodge it and dip into the living room.

"Come on, Baskin!" I hear Ric yell from the front door.

I wiggle my fingers at an unamused Jenna and go to catch up with him, grabbing my leather jacket off the couch on my way.

"Does that make you my Billy?" I grin at him.

"Throw me those keys." He nods to the end table by the stairs as he finishes the last button on Lydia's coat. "And I'm not your Billy."

"Sure you are." I toss him the keys. "You're ginger, too."

"I'm not ginger," he glares at me. "I'm like ... a sandy brown."

"Your beard's ginger," I point out.

"Only in the light," he mutters, rubbing a self-conscious hand across the stubble littering his chin.

"Sure, Billy." I purse my lips, narrow my eyes, and nod at him.

He gives me the finger and walks outside, leaving the front door open for me to follow.

"_Shimmy shimmy coco pop, shimmy shimmy rock. Shimmy shimmy coco pop, shimmy shimmy rock. I met a girlfriend - a triscuit. She said a triscuit - a biscuit..._"

"If you're gonna sing that the entire way there," Ric says, spinning to look at me. "I'm gonna have to ask you to walk at least 10 feet behind me."

. . .

"I cannot believe this thing hasn't changed in the last _twelve_ _years_," I say, raking my eyes over the carnival.

I swear, you could take a picture of this thing from when I was in high school and compare it to it today, and you wouldn't be able to tell the damn difference.

"I mean, seriously, get me some frosted tips, throw on some 'N Sync, and just call this 2001."

We're stood next to the Funhouse, and right after that is the beginning of a long row of concession stands; greasy food that's largely overpriced and yet the line for each of them is still a mile long. To our left is the Ferris wheel, no doubt filled with high school sweethearts whose goal is to kiss at the top of it, which is just cliché. And, as previously predicted by yours truly, there are kids. There are kids _everywhere_. Little kids, big kids, short kids, tall kids, kids eating popcorn, kids eating ice-cream cones, and kids _pulling on my pants_?

I look down and find a boy, no older than five, staring up at me. He's short and chubby and okay, he's a _little_ cute, but he's also tugging on my jeans with his dirty little hands and that makes his level of cuteness go from like a 9 to a 3, because these jeans are _John Varvatos _and they cost almost as much as my first car, and even though my first car was a fucking 1985 piece of shit Toyota Corolla, it still cost me a few hundred bucks despite it being vastly dangerous to drive.

"Sammy!"

I look up and find a woman who must be his mom standing a few feet away. She's got two other kids of different ages hanging off her, and she looks a mixture of frustrated and exhausted. The kid looks up at me one more time and gives me a toothless grin before scampering off towards her.

"I do _not_ envy her."

Alaric shoots me a glance. "You do realize that I have a kid now, right?"

"Yeah, but that's different." I wave a hand in the air and look at Lydia. She's sat in her stroller, inspecting her surroundings from under her white fluffy hat with a mixture of awe and confusion. "Lydia's gonna be awesome."

"Of course she is. She's _mine_." Alaric puffs out his chest proudly.

"Actually, she's gonna be awesome _in spite_ of that," I say. "I'm going to make her awesome."

"God help us all," Alaric mutters under his breath, and I look forward again.

"Okay, let's get this shit over with," I say, waving my arm out in front of me. "What's it gonna be?"

"Actually, I'm not really sure." He scratches his chin. "She's a little young to really _do_ anything. I guess it's more just showing her the place, you know?"

"You mean you brought her here to _show her around_?" I blink at him. "Ric, she's not even gonna remember this!"

"Yeah, but she'll see the pictures," he tells me. "She'll probably fall asleep soon, anyway; she only had a short nap this afternoon."

I eye Lydia dubiously; her green eyes are wide and alert, and she's kicking her legs out happily.

"Okay, pictures," I nod. "So, shooting gallery?"

He just stares at me.

"Come on!" I say, grinning. "If I remember correctly, it's an old western saloon. We can put a cowboy hat on her head! Think of how funny it will be when Jenna sees that."

"It won't be funny when Jenna's kicking my ass!"

"It's not like we'd be giving her the gun," I say, and I know the look in Ric's eye means he's about to concede. It's the same look he had in his eye when I drunkenly suggested getting tattoos back in college; half of him was worrying about the ramifications and the other half wanted to just say 'fuck it'.

"Okay, fine," he says, and in my mind I remember him laying face-down on that table while the words 'Bob Dylan' were getting tattooed on his ass. "But when Jenna sees it, you're taking the fall!"

Unsurprisingly, seeing as the carnival has had the same layout since the mid-nineties, we find the game easily enough. There's a couple in front of us, the guy trying to shoot down the row of fake rum bottles on the shelf to, most likely, win a bear for his girlfriend. As Ric and I devise our plan, we come to the realization that we'll need a third party to take the picture. As the boyfriend slams another dollar down to go again, my eyes scan the people around us, scoping out somebody who doesn't look like they'll be offended if I ask them to take a picture of a baby next to a rifle.

That's when I see her.

She's stood a few feet away, playing Hook-A-Duck. She guides the long rod in her hands carefully, her lips pursed and her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The hook on the end of the line is hovering just over one of plastic animals, but at the last second she misses, and the guy running the game says something to her that I don't hear but wish I did, because she throws her head back and laughs and it's the most beautiful fucking thing I've ever seen. She's small but not short, with a slim waist but full hips, and she's tan; by God, is she tan, with golden legs a fucking mile long. The cool air makes the summer dress she has on flutter around her body, and her long, brunette hair is in a loose braid, but the fly away pieces framing her face flutter into her eyes, and she pulls them away with a hook of her pinky finger. She has a great face, too; it's full and round and heart-shaped, ending in the tiny point of her chin. Her lips are full and as rosy as her cheeks, and despite the fact that she cannot be a day over 21, I feel my feet moving towards her of their own accord.

When I reach her, her back is to me and she's concentrating on the game again. When she finally scoops up a duck, she cheers triumphantly and pumps both fists in the air, and _holy fucking shit_ is that cute. When the guy asks what stuffed toy she wants, she points to a small Minnie Mouse. She takes the toy and walks until she reaches a blond girl a couple of feet away, and I can hear her talking about trying again to win the Mickey to go with it. I still can't get my feet to move for some ungodly reason, and I realize that because I was stood behind her, people assumed I was in line to play and started lining up behind me, so then the guy who runs the stupid duck game is ushering me forward and I can't exactly just _walk away_ when she's stood _right there_. So I shove the camera in my pocket and hand him the money, and he hands me the stupid stick, and I can feel her watching me as I feed it through my hands until it hovers over the ducks floating in the pool of water.

It takes me a couple of tries, but when I finally hook a duck and the guy asks me what toy I want, I look over and meet her eyes directly. They're dark and they're beautiful and they're staring at me with a hint of confusion and a lot of something else that I don't have enough time to dissect, because the confusion is enough to snap me back to reality, and I turn and point to the Mickey Mouse, which the guy tosses me a second later.

And then I'm walking up to her and my palms are sweaty and my mouth is dry and I haven't fucking felt this nervous around a girl since asking Sarah Cleaver to my birthday party in the 3rd grade, and I know Sarah Cleaver sounds like a middle-aged mom with glasses and a bowl cut but I promise she was cute, but fuck Sarah Cleaver, anyway, because she never showed up to my birthday party and she probably didn't grow up to be this hot.

When I'm stood in front of her, she looks even more confused than she did a minute ago, and I don't blame her. I don't know what the hell I'm doing either.

I hold the Mickey Mouse out to her and manage the smallest of smirks.

"For your Minnie."

_For your Minnie? What the fuck was that?_

She just glances from the stuffed toy in my hand and then back to me, and when she gives me a small smile, her cheeks a little pink, I swear I hear honest-to-God angels singing in my head.

"Thank you," she says softly.

And then we're both quiet, and the blonde girl, who I'm guessing is her friend, is stood beside her, looking back and forth between us.

"Was that my cellphone?" She says, even though we all know her cellphone didn't make a noise. "I'll be right back, _Elena_."

She says her name with emphasis, and I grin and _Elena_ blushes, and then the blond spins on her heel and walks away, and I thank God for good friends

"So, that was pretty smooth of you," she says once her friend has gone. She glances at her feet before staring up at me under dark lashes. "The whole winning-me-Mickey thing."

I bite my bottom lip against a grin, but it stretches across my face anyway.

"I'm Damon." I hold my hand out to her, and she stares at it for a second before shoving Mickey in the crook of her elbow and putting her hand in mine.

It's soft and warm and in any other situation, I'd kiss it and shoot her a sly smirk that guaranteed she'd be in my bed within the hour, but for some reason I don't want to do that with her. Oh, I want her in my bed, without a doubt, but I don't want to 'schmooze her', as Ric once called it. She doesn't look like the kind of girl who'd appreciate an overused pick-up line laced with sexual innuendo, anyway; she looks like the kind of girl who'd appreciate a kiss on the top of a Ferris wheel, and the idea of kissing her makes me retract my previous statement about Ferris wheel kisses being cliché.

"Elena," she returns, pressing her lips together. God, I bet they're soft. "But I guess you already know that."

I have to remind myself that I'm almost 28 goddamn years old, but it's hard to when I feel like an acne-prone 17-year-old who doesn't know two-shits about how to talk to a woman.

"So..." I trail off. "You come here often?"

It's a cheap shot, but it makes her laugh. She has a great laugh, too; it's warm and tinkling and she scrunches her nose up until the top row of her teeth peek out.

God, she even has pretty teeth.

"Every year," she smiles. "You?"

"Oh, yeah," I lie with a nod. "I love it. The lights, the atmosphere..."

She tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes at me. "You hate it, don't you?"

"More than you could ever imagine," I admit.

She laughs again, and I could probably stand here and make her laugh all night and be a happy, happy man.

"Well, since you hate it so much, you probably don't have that much planned," she says, shifting from one foot to the other. "And I've been here thirty minutes and I still haven't had even one toffee apple, so..."

My first instinct is to say hell yes, but then I remember Ric, and I know I can't leave him alone with Lydia; I mean, I could, but he'd make me feel guilty about it for the next twenty years.

"I wish I could say yes," I admit, hating Ric a little more with every word I say. "But I came here with my buddy, and he'll kick my ass if I abandon him for a girl."

She smiles disappointedly at me and shrugs a shoulder.

"Maybe next time, then," she picks up Mickey and waves him slightly. "Thank you for winning me this, at least."

"You're welcome, _Elena._" I smirk at her.

She purses her lips against a smile and waves once before walking away. I watch her until she disappears into the crowd, and when she's out of sight, I drop my head back and let out a groan.

Fucking Ric.

. . .

It's been over forty minutes.

'She'll probably fall asleep soon,' Alaric had said, but it had been over forty goddamn minutes and Lydia couldn't be more awake if she'd taken a hit of ecstasy. Maybe it was the ice cream we promised Jenna we wouldn't give her but did anyway, or maybe it was the atmosphere of the carnival, but she was just a tiny ball of energy; her green eyes were zipping from person to person, inspecting them with keen interest, and her tiny hands were reaching out to grab at everything we passed.

When I returned to Ric, he was trying to convince the game runner to give him his cowboy hat and red handkerchief. The guy finally caved when we bribed him with some money, and then he waited patiently while we proceeded to dress an 11-month-old up like John Wayne. I even convinced him to toss us one of the fake rum bottles, and we had Lydia hold it while we snapped two pictures - one on the camera and another when I made Ric snapchat Jenna a picture with the tagline, "Do you feel lucky, punk?", which I pointed out was incorrectly phrased and also _Dirty Harry_ wasn't even a Western movie, but he sent it anyway because we had to grab the fake rum bottle out of Lydia's hands before she tried to eat it again.

Jenna never replied.

Eventually, Lydia began to fuss in her stroller, so Ric put on the brakes and began walking her around in a circle; she wasn't walking alone yet, but she was pretty steady if she had someone to hold onto.

"She's getting so steady," Ric says, speaking more to himself than to me as he walks Lydia around the grassy area we're in the middle of, but I mumble an absentminded 'yeah' in reply anyway, my eyes on the crowd.

I hadn't seen Elena again, despite the fact that the carnival isn't that big and we'd been around pretty much all of it, and I was beginning to give up hope. Maybe she forgot about me two seconds after she walked away. Maybe she has a boyfriend. Maybe I'm just sitting here like a giant vagina, eager to bump into her again, when she'd just gone home and was currently screwing some frat guy from her college who spends his weekends smoking weed and has '69' at the end of his Facebook password.

That was, if she was even in college. She looked around the college age, but maybe she didn't go to college.

These were the things I'd know if I'd talked to her for more than two fucking seconds.

These were the things I'd know if I hadn't roomed with Alaric during my freshman year of college, because then I wouldn't have gotten stuck with him as a best friend for the last 9 years and he couldn't have prevented me from going to get that goddamn toffee apple with her. Shit knows what I'd be doing now; pressing Elena up against a wall with her tongue in my mouth, ideally.

I should have just gone with her. Why didn't I just go with her? Who gives a shit if Alaric would have busted my balls? He's a grown ass man; he could have survived the carnival alone.

"No, really," Ric insists, and I pull my eyes away from the throng of people, "a couple of weeks at the most."

And I don't know what the fuck he's talking about, so I just nod and hope for the best, but he knows me well enough to know when I'm bullshitting and he narrows his eyes at me.

"My god, would you pull yourself together?" He scoffs, lifting Lydia under her armpits and swinging her up into his arms. "You've been mooning after this girl for like an hour, and you only spoke to her for twenty seconds."

"Whose fault is that?" I throw my arms in the air.

His reply is interrupted by the muffled sound of Olivia Newton John's _Physical _blasting from his back pocket. A few people around us glance over at him and he glares at me as I begin to grin.

_Let's get physical, physical  
I wanna get physical  
Let's get into physical_

"Stop changing my ringtone!" he snaps at me, sliding his finger across the screen and lifting his cell to his ear. "Hey, sweetie."

And, God, I hope that's Jenna asking him to come home, because I was tired of this carnival thirty-five minutes ago, and the fact that Elena and her amazing legs are probably wrapped around some guy with a spray tan right now instead of me isn't helping me feel any less crabby.

"Yeah, of course." Ric nods and begins bouncing Lydia slightly when she starts to babble nonsensically to herself. "I'll be right there."

And there it is, folks. Start the Hallelujah chorus, bring out the marching band, and order a tray of celebratory tequila shots.

"I have to go home." Alaric turns back towards me.

"Darn it." I feign a disappointed expression. "That's really too bad; I was enjoying myself _immensely_."

"I forget how much of a dick you are until I spend more than a couple of hours with you," Ric says. "When are you going home, again?"

"You've got me for a whole two weeks, buddy." I grin at him. "Doctor's orders."

"You mean Stefan's orders," he corrects, buckling Lydia back into her stroller, much to her dismay.

"Damn, Stefan may as well be my doctor." I lean back on the bench and stretch my legs out. "Always hovering over me and asking me _how I'm doing _with that stupid little head tilt of his, driving me insane."

"You can't really blame him, can you?"

"I'm a grown man, Ric." I raise my eyebrows at him. "I don't need a babysitter."

He just stares at me for a second, and I know he wants to say something, but he knows well enough to leave it alone, so he just presses his lips together and asks if I'm coming with.

"Nah, I might hang around for a bit."

He rolls his eyes and tosses me the spare key before turning to walk in the direction of his house.

"Wear a condom!" he calls over his shoulder.

I shake my head and glance towards The Grill, and I'm debating whether or not I should actually just go and find a girl to hook up with for the night when I catch sight of golden limbs and chocolate hair in my peripheral vision. Looking over, I smirk when I set my sights on Elena, incidentally, walking in the very direction I was just thinking of going.

I wait a few minutes after she enters The Grill before I get up and follow after her.

* * *

**This was, originally, supposed to be a O/S, but I ended up writing a lot more than I thought I would, so I decided to split it up into two chapters.**

**And in the (paraphrased) words of AC/DC: For those about to review, I salute you.**


	2. Part Two

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Vampire Diaries or any of its characters.**

_**Author's Note (I give you permission to skip over this because who cares about ANs?): Thank you so much to everyone that has reviewed/favourited/followed; I appreciate it a lot. (Especially to those who have reviewed. You're all lovely.)**_

* * *

"Favorite movie?"

Elena glances at me out of the corner of her eye and her tongue darts out to lick chocolate off the corner of her mouth. There's still tiny ice cream stains all around her lips that she doesn't know about, so I've been avoiding looking at her mouth at all costs, because every time I do I want to lick it off and I don't think that's gonna be happening anytime soon given the fact that I've only known her for a couple of hours.

"_The Godfather_," I reply confidently.

"You are such a _guy_," Elena says, rolling her eyes.

"You don't like _The Godfather_?" I ask in shock.

"Never seen it," she admits and I gape at her.

"Watch _The Godfather_," I tell her immediately.

"But it's so _long_," she moans.

"You do not get to tell me that _The Lord of the Rings_ is your favorite movie and then use the length of _The Godfather_ as an excuse to not watch it."

"I never said _The Lord of the Rings_ was my favorite movie." Elena points a finger at me. "I said I _liked_ it."

"Then what _is_ your favorite movie?"

"Don't laugh," she says, spooning some more ice cream out of the small tub in her hand.

"Why would I laugh?"

"Because it's dumb."

"Please tell me it's not _The Notebook_."

"It's not _The Notebook_," she says, and I let out an exaggerated sigh of relief that makes her frown. "Hey, that's a good movie."

"It's also grossly overrated," I shake my head. "Come on, lay it on me."

"_The NeverEnding Story_," she admits after a moment's hesitation.

"Is that the one with the huge dog?"

"Falkor," Elena says immediately. "And he's a dragon."

"Doesn't look like a dragon."

"He's a dragon," she says sternly.

I send her a wink and bump my shoulder against hers to show I'm just messing with her, and a deep pink blush forms on her cheeks. I bite the inside of my bottom lip to stop myself smirking as she turns her head in an attempt to hide it.

After catching up with her at The Grill earlier and dropping a few hints to her more-than-a-little-tipsy friend to skedaddle, I engaged Elena in conversation, and pretty soon she was insisting that the carnival was actually 'tons of fun' but I had yet to experience it properly. She ended up convincing me that letting her drag me around said carnival was a good idea - not that she needed to try very hard to convince me; girl was smoking hot _and_ she was actually fun to talk to. I could think of worse ways to spend my evenings, despite our location.

I don't know if she'd made the carnival _fun_ just yet, but she'd certainly made it more bearable.

In between some of the random carnival attractions she'd subjected me to in the last hour and a half, we played a round of twenty questions. Nothing too deep - birthdays, favorite books, etc. I probably found out more trivial facts about Elena in that time than I know about any other person in my life sans Stefan and Alaric. I mean, I'm sure other people, even other women, have told me shit like this in the past, but with Elena is the first time I've actually cared to listen.

While waiting in line for the swing carousel, I found out that her star sign is Cancer. While I played darts in an attempt to win her a goldfish, she admitted to having a strong aversion to pickles. (She didn't keep the goldfish, choosing instead to find a family and politely pull the parents aside to ask permission to give it to their kid. The boy beamed as soon as Elena gave it to him, and I'm pretty sure my grin was just as big while watching her do it.)

She also really loves classic rock. Now, I'll admit, I raised an eyebrow at that, assuming she was lying, but she just gave me a stern look and told me it was offensive that I'd branded her with the stereotypical stamp of 'pop fan' that is so common with her generation. But that's not to say she doesn't like pop music because she _does_, and there is absolutely _nothing_ wrong with that. (I'd wholeheartedly agreed, because I had a feeling that if I didn't, she'd either ditch me or clock me, and despite the fact that she stands about 5'6 and can't weigh more than 120 pounds, something told me she could pack a punch. And I certainly didn't want her to ditch me, because I actually liked spending time with her.)

After a while she announced that I still owed her for the toffee apple I never bought her and that she could really go for some ice cream, which is how we ended up sitting where we are now; the very bench that I was sat on earlier in the evening when I spotted her going into The Grill.

"So, Damon," she clears her throat. "Tell me something about you. What do you do?"

"I'm a lawyer," I tell her after a moment.

Stefan distinctly said that I was not to talk or even think about work while I was here, but fuck it.

"I did not sense lawyer," she admits, propping her elbow on her knee and dropping her chin to her hand.

"What did you sense?" I ask, genuinely interested.

"Something ... literary," she says. "English teacher, maybe."

Well, that's a first.

"What about you?" I return.

"I'm Pre-Med," she informs me. "Graduating next Spring."

"Wow."

"Don't look so surprised," she says, looking mildly offended.

"Not surprised; impressed," I correct. "What are you majoring in?"

"Biology."

"Med school?"

"Harvard," she replies. "Well, hopefully."

"Ooh," I fake a cringe and she frowns. "Boston ... might not be that good of an idea."

"Why?" she asks worriedly, her eyes flaring.

"You might..." I stage whisper and lean in closer to her. She shivers when my breath hits her ear, "become a Red Sox fan."

I expect her to shove my shoulder and berate me for messing with her, but she doesn't; she purses her lips against a smile before shaking her head profusely. "Have you no faith? Yankees all the way, my friend."

I startle and look at her. "You're a Yankees fan?"

"I've lived in New York for almost 4 years; choosing between the Mets and the Yankees was part of initiation over there," she shakes her head fondly.

_She lives in New York?_

I slip that little tidbit of information in my back pocket for later.

As she excuses herself to go to the bathroom, I follow her with my eyes and find myself wondering if I've ever met her before. Four years is a long time to live in the same city; have we ever passed each other on the street? Been in the same coffee shop at the same time? Then again, New York's a big city, and the chances were slim to none.

When she comes out of the bathroom a couple of minutes later, she smiles when she spots me. Her hands are folded in front of her and she fiddles with her fingers as she heads towards me, and it's such a goddamn innocent gesture that I feel a smile forming on my face. I sneakily scan her from head to toe when she's not looking; from the brown ankle boots she has on, up the curve of her golden calf, over her blue floral dress, before I finally land on her face. When I meet her eyes again, I find her already staring at me, and she blushes for what must be the hundredth time tonight.

I mentally shake my head at my earlier thought; I definitely didn't meet her back in New York. Not because it was such a big city, but because if I had, I'd definitely remember her.

. . .

The air gets a little colder with each hour that passes, and as it does, Elena gets a little more tired; she arrived in Mystic Falls just today, she told me, having set off this morning and arrived in town late this afternoon. I smirked when I found out she drives a stick shift, and when I admitted my surprise, she turned to me with a smirk that mirrored my own and suggested I stop underestimating her. It was hot as hell.

When it hits 9 p.m. and Elena yawns for the fifth time in twenty minutes, I suggest we hit The Grill for a - non-alcoholic - nightcap.

"Ooh, live band," Elena says, pointing at the chalkboard as we enter. "Am I gonna get a dance out of you tonight?"

"Absolutely not."

"Spoiled sport," she sticks her tongue out at me and I laugh a little.

I gesture the bartender over and ask Elena what she wants. When she says a soda, I ask for a soda and an orange juice, and she doesn't comment on the fact that I don't get a beer or anything else alcoholic, but she does cock an eyebrow inquisitively.

"So, what's your story?" she says once we've been served our drinks.

"I already told you," I furrow my brow. "I'm 27, I'm a lawyer, and I-"

"Not your _eHarmony_ bio," Elena interrupts with a shake of her head. "I mean, like, what's your _story_? Tell me something random and interesting about you, something you probably shouldn't tell me or wouldn't usually tell me. Anything."

I don't know what makes me do it, but I stare at her for a few seconds before I find myself reaching into my pocket and pulling out the small chip.

Throwing it towards her, she catches it in one hand and holds it up between her thumb and forefinger. She inspects it closely before returning her eyes to mine.

"6 months?"

I swallow thickly and raise my glass of orange juice.

She catches on quickly, her eyebrows raising and her mouth opening in a silent 'oh'. I don't find sympathy or judgment in her eyes like I expected to, though; I find empathy.

"Good for you," she says sincerely, and I can tell she really means it.

I feel like she has more to say, but I don't want to push her, so I just take a sip of my drink and watch her as she stares down at the bar.

"My, uh, brother was an addict," she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Started when he was young, so I know how tough it is. I mean, I know it's not the same, but an addiction's an addiction, I guess. And I may not know what it's like personally, but I was with him every single day, so when I say 'good for you', I'm not just saying it to be polite; I honestly do mean it. Good for you, Damon."

A lot of people have commended me in the last half a year for how _strong_ I am and all that bullshit, but it was always people close to me like Stefan or Alaric. Somehow, hearing it from this girl - this girl who doesn't _need_ to give me a pat on the back just because she knows me - makes it mean a hell of a lot more.

"Thank you," I say earnestly. "How long has your brother been sober?"

She pauses, and the look on her face tells me all I need to know.

"Shit, Elena," I say immediately and, fucking hell, somebody kick me in the ass. "I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine," she interrupts, and she sends me a sad smile that all but breaks my heart. "You didn't know."

We're silent then, and I want to say I'm sorry. I know first-hand that apologies when somebody close to you dies doesn't do shit, but it's the only thing I've got, so I say it anyway.

"I'm sorry."

"Why? You didn't kill him."

"No, but I know how much it sucks to lose somebody you love, and you seem like a pretty damn decent person, so I'm sorry you had to go through that. And I'm sorry your brother had to go through that."

"Thank you," she replies softly, a disbelieving look in her eye. "Nobody ever says that."

"What, 'sorry'?" I frown doubtfully.

"No." She shakes her head. "I mean, they say it to me, but they don't say it to - or for - Jeremy. Not many people get it, you know? They just think if he was dumb enough to take drugs, then he deserved what he got. No one understands that, in a lot of ways, it was way harder for him than it was for me."

I don't know what to say to that; I'm not sure she wants me to say anything at all, so I just reach over to give her thigh a comforting squeeze, except her legs are bare and I don't want to make her uncomfortable, so I change route and go for her hand at the last second. I clasp my fingers over hers and squeeze gently, and she stares down at our hands for several long seconds before she lifts her thumb and softly strokes the pad of it across the side of my pinky finger.

It's a small gesture, but it makes the side of my hand tingle all the same. I don't look at her and she doesn't look at me, and I try to ignore the fact that my hand is _in her freaking lap_.

A loud clang sounds behind us and the moment is broken, our hands separating, as we both twist to find the source of the intruding noise. The band is setting up on stage behind us, and one guy slaps another across the head as he picks a cymbal up off the floor. He then winces as he hesitantly approaches the mic.

"Sorry about that, folks." He sends a glare to his band mate. "We'll be ready in just a second, and if anybody has any requests, we're open to suggestions."

Turning back to the bar, I begin fingering the rim of my glass as an idea forms in my head.

"I tell you what," I start, turning back to Elena and pretending not to notice the pink tinge to her cheeks. "You want me to dance? You choose a song and we'll dance."

I figure she needs some cheering up, and God knows girl's gonna pick a cheesy pop song just to spite my assumption earlier.

"Any song?" She grins, a mischievous glint appearing in her eyes, and I internally wince because if she chooses a song from Rocky Horror, I'm outta here.

I hold up a finger. "Within reason."

"I'll go easy on you," she says playfully, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth and sliding off her stool.

I turn and lean my elbows against the bar as I watch her make her way across the dance floor. When she's up on stage, she smiles politely and I can see her lips begin to move as the guy leans down to hear her better. A minute later he nods and she turns to lock eyes with me. Unlike a minute ago, she doesn't look mischievous, she looks _shy_. I frown in confusion as she hesitates before descending the steps from the stage, and when music begins to play, I realize why. It's not the Macarena or Barbie Girl or Cotton Eyed Joe or any other song chosen solely for the purpose of embarrassing me, like I expected it to be.

The guy on acoustic opens, and I don't recognize the song until Elena's standing in front of me with her hand held out.

"Would you do me the honor, kind sir?" She tries to act nonchalant, but I can see by her face how nervous and uncertain she is.

She has no reason to be.

I slide my hand into hers and she guides me to the dance floor as the vocalist starts to sing.

_Well, since time I had a mind, I been lazy_  
_And times before that I was cruel_

I know this song. I _love_ this song. At least, I love the album version; this version is acoustic. It's slower and more intimate.

_And times before that I was mean, I was mad_  
_Honey, I ain't never had nobody like you_

The singer isn't M. Ward, but he does a pretty good cover, I'll admit. His voice is low and rich and a little scratchy, and as I lay my hands on Elena's waist, I feel something in my chest that I don't want to think too much about, because I hardly know this girl and she should not, under any circumstances, be making me feel any kind of shit in any part of my body other than that below the waist.

She circles her arms around my neck and we begin to sway.

_And the times before that, well, I was crazy_  
_I saw the dark side of the moon_  
_And the stars in the sky, they never caught my eye_  
_'Cause I ain't never had nobody like you_  
_I ain't never had nobody like you_

Elena peeks at me from under dark lashes, her lips pressed together. I quirk the side of my mouth up and daringly slide my hands around to the small of her back before pulling her a little closer. I feel, rather than hear, her gasp, but she doesn't move away, just tightens her arms around my neck.

_Now it's just like ABC_  
_Life's just like 123_  
_Yeah yeah_  
_Yeah yeah_  
_Ah oh_

She slides closer of her own accord this time. The top of her head comes to about my ear, so as she moves the side of her face slowly, deliberately, against mine, I feel both the tickle of her soft hair and the smoothness of her cheek against my jaw. Closing my eyes, I turn my head a fraction, my lips a hair's breadth away from her temple.

_I watched my old habits die and it was painful_  
_Sometimes it's painful in the light of the truth_  
_But you've kept me fast to the right_  
_And I wanna thank you tonight_  
_Honey, I ain't never had nobody like you  
No, I aint never had nobody like you_

I don't know what the hell I'm doing; I met her a few hours ago and now we're slow dancing like we're at fucking Prom, but as Elena turns her head slightly, the tip of her nose brushing my jaw as she breathes in deeply, I discover that I really, really don't give a shit, because I'm honest-to-God enjoying myself for the first time in forever. Dancing with Elena feels good. Talking to Elena feels good. _This_ feels good.

_I trusted liars and thieves in my blindness  
Honey, I was wasting away at the root  
But now that I been through that hell, I got a story to tell  
Honey, I ain't never had nobody like you  
I ain't I never had nobody like you_

As the final notes of the song fade out, there's this moment - this one goddamn moment - where neither Elena nor I move away from each other. We just stand there, pressed together and still swaying a little, waiting for The Grill's usual soundtrack to fill our ears - forks scratching against plates, families yammering, chairs screeching against the floor - but none of it comes. The restaurant is suspiciously silent, and when I crack my eyes open, I see why.

They're all staring at us.

The Grill isn't that full; most of the town's residents are meandering around the carnival outside, but the few people who _are_ here? Yeah, they're staring at us.

You know that part during the first dance at a wedding when the camera pans around the guest tables and you see that some women have tears in their eyes with their hands folded together under their chins? It's exactly like that. I mean, nobody's crying or anything, but I immediately spot an older woman nudge her friend and point to us with an expression on her face like she's looking at a couple of goddamn wrestling puppies.

When I lead her from The Grill a minute later, our fingers are laced together and Elena's still blushing.

. . .

"So, that's why you're here?"

I twist my head to the side to look at Elena; her eyes are open and curious, but I don't feel like she's prying, so I twitch the side of my mouth and shrug.

She blinks at me slowly and turns away from me to stare back up at the sky. I didn't particularly want to lay on the muddy ground and get all of my very expensive clothes dirty, but she didn't give me much of a choice. She just flopped straight down and pulled me with her.

I follow the curve of her jaw with my eyes, knowing she's about to speak before she does, because her jaw moves ever so slightly when she parts her lips.

"So, two weeks here and you go back to work?"

"That was the deal." I nod even though she's not looking at me. "Stefan tried to get me to stay longer, but two weeks was my cut off point."

"But, why?" She turns her head back towards me. "If you went back to work and it got too much for you then - and feel free to tell me to shut up because this _so_ isn't any of my business - surely two weeks here isn't going to make much of a difference?"

I swallow as she voices the fear that's been swirling around in my head for the last couple of days.

After getting out of rehab, I threw myself back into work almost immediately; my brother tried to stop me, but I ignored him. A couple of weeks into a particularly stressful case, Stefan caught me in my office, passing a glass of scotch back and forth between my hands. He almost had a damn heart attack right there in the doorway, and soon after he was demanding I take a couple more weeks off work. I was reluctant at first, but when I saw how genuinely concerned he was, I decided to appease him. He suggested coming to stay with Alaric because he was 'good for me', which I know is bullshit, 'cause Ric drinks like a damn fish; he's just the only person I _could_ come and stay with.

"What else am I supposed to do?" I ask her. "I can't stay off work forever. Besides, my brother overreacted; I didn't even drink the damn drink."

"You poured it," she points out.

"But I didn't drink it," I insist. "I wouldn't have."

"You sure about that?" she asks gently.

I don't say anything, because the truth is I _don't_ know what would've happened had Stefan not barged into my office that day. I don't tell her that though.

"This got depressing real quick." I push myself up into a sitting position and roll my shoulders. "This is hardly appropriate first date conversation."

"This is a date?" Elena's eyes twinkle at me, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief that she didn't push me to talk anymore.

"Don't act like you don't want it to be." I cut my eyes into slits at her playfully.

"I _may_ be okay with it being a date," she admits coyly before she sits up. I spot a leaf caught in the twist of her braid and pluck it out quickly.

"If you really want this to be a date, though," she continues, staring at the leaf in my hand before her eyes meet mine again, "you know there's one more thing you're gonna have to do."

. . .

So, yeah, I've fucking ended up on the Ferris wheel.

I know, I know; _Damon's a hypocrite_. Whatever. If you saw Elena, you'd be a hypocrite too.

And I'll tell you something else, it's not half bad. I mean, I don't really see the massive amount of appeal it has to girls, but it's kinda nice.

Maybe I find it kinda nice because the cart is so small, which means that Elena's pressed up against my side and I can feel her breasts on my arm, but still.

"So, carnival?" Elena says beside me as we begin to move. "What's the final verdict?"

"Hmm," I tilt my head and pretend to think about it. "I'd give it a 7.5 out of 10."

"That's _it_?" She sticks her bottom lip out.

"Hey, it was like -1000 before you got here, so you did pretty good."

She purses her lips against a smile.

"What would make it a 10?" She asks quieter than I think she or I expected, and we both go still.

Her brown eyes bore into mine, and they're like tiny pools of fire, filled with warmth and heat and tiny specks of gold. They drift down to my lips and hers part a little. She lets out a small breath that I feel against my chin, before she returns her eyes to mine. I think I see invitation in them, but I don't want to assume, so I wait for her to make the first move.

She does.

Leaning forward slightly, her eyes dart from my lips to my eyes as the cart swings a little, and I lift my hand to hook a finger under her chin as I begin tilting my head towards hers.

Elena's eyes droop closed and mine begin to follow suit, and our lips are millimetres apart when I feel a vibration against my side that makes us both freeze.

"My cell phone," she whispers, her warm breath puffing against my lips.

And then she moves away from me to stick her hand in the pocket of her little denim jacket, and I close my eyes briefly, cursing whoever's on the other end.

"Hello?" she answers, sounding short of breath, and it makes me want to smirk and puff my chest out proudly. We hadn't even kissed and it had affected her.

Good to know I wasn't the only one.

"You're in Mystic Falls!" I hear the voice on the other end squeal, because her phone is like an inch from my ear.

"Dammit, Caroline!" Elena huffs, moving a little too quickly and jerking the cart. She shoots an apologetic look my way.

"Caroline didn't tell me," the voice answers, and I frown a little because I _swear_ I've heard that voice before. "I've just got a sixth sense for these things. Where the hell are you and why didn't you tell me you were coming home early?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise," Elena says disappointedly. "Seriously, Aunt Jenna, Caroline told you, didn't she?"

Aunt _Jenna_? I snap my eyes to Elena but she's staring straight ahead.

Aunt Jenna like Ric's Jenna?

It hits me like a freight train half a second later.

_Elena._

Jenna has a niece called Elena. She's mentioned her a few times in front of me, but I've never really paid any attention, because why would I care? But God only knows what Jenna's told Elena about me, because even though she puts up with me for Ric's sake, I know she's always hated me, and I'd bet my life she talks shit about me to anyone that'll listen.

I rub my forehead a little, close my eyes, and release a string of expletives in my head before I go back to listening to their conversation.

"I'd invite you to stay with us, but our guest room is inhabited right now." Jenna's voice is dripping with distaste.

Here it comes, folks.

"It's no problem; I'm sure Liz won't mind me staying there," Elena replies, not having caught on. "Who's staying with you? Ric's mom isn't visiting again, is she?"

"Worse," Jenna says on the other line. "You remember me mentioning Ric's old college friend, Damon?"

Elena's body goes rigid and her face goes slack as her eyes meet mine. I can see her putting the pieces together easier than a 4-piece jigsaw puzzle.

"Yeah...?"

"Well he's staying here for a while, much to my dismay."

"Is that so?" Elena says absentmindedly, her eyes darting between both of mine, and I swallow loudly.

"Yeah," Jenna affirms. "He went to the carnival tonight with Alaric, actually; I'm surprised you didn't bump into them. Hey, you might be able to stay in our guest room, after all, because Ric came home alone, so Damon's probably off with some sorority girl. Predictably."

Elena's mouth tightens, and I clench my teeth and will Jenna to just shut the fuck up.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah," Jenna goes on. "He's quite the Hugh Hefner. He probably wouldn't even notice if we moved you in."

Elena breaks eye contact and I drop my head in exasperation. The Ferris wheel jerks and starts back up again, and we begin our descent to the ground.

"It's okay. I think I'll just stay with Caroline; all of my stuff is there, anyway. I'll drop in tomorrow though, okay?"

I tune out the rest of their conversation and stare straight ahead, but I can't help noticing that Elena's fiddling with the hem of her dress in my peripheral vision, her eyes cast downwards.

Fuck.

She slides her finger across her cell phone screen, signalling the end of their conversation, and drops it back in her pocket as the Ferris wheel stops and we both jump off.

"Look, Elena-"

"It's okay, Damon," she insists, but I know it's anything but, because she's staring at her feet and I don't know what exactly is going through her head, but I know it's not positive. She hasn't looked at me once since she got the phone call and she's got a thoughtful scowl on her face.

"Hey," I say, stopping in front of her, and it takes her a second but she looks up at me eventually. "You know this wasn't just..."

I trail off because I'm not sure what to say; even if I do tell her it wasn't my intention to screw her tonight and toss her away in the morning, why should she believe me? That _was_ my intention; at least, it had been until I actually got to know her.

"I like you, Elena." I take a deep breath. "And saying this makes me feel like a giant pussy, because I'm not used to this; I'm not used to actually liking girls and riding Ferris wheels and slow dancing and actually caring about what somebody thinks of me. I'm not used to caring, period."

She blinks up at me with her big, brown doe eyes, and I feel something in my chest that I haven't felt in a very, _very_ long time. I also, surprisingly, feel a small amount of fear, because I haven't talked this openly with a woman in, well, _ever_, and, yeah, it's making me nervous, so what?

But I've already been more honest with her tonight than I have been with anybody in a long time, and something tells me she needs to hear this, so I power through.

"And I know I don't know you incredibly well, but the person I met tonight and all that I learned about her? I liked that person. I _like_ that person. And I'd really like to get to know her better." I swallow and stare into her eyes, willing her to believe me. "Is that okay?"

She stares at me for a few seconds longer, her eyes devouring every inch of my face before returning to mine, and I'm so nervous that I'm pretty sure my ass is sweating, but eventually she gives me a smile that makes my body sag in relief, and her eyes are warm when she answers me.

"That's more than okay."

. . .

"Where'd you get to last night, Don Juan?"

I rub my eye with the heel of my hand as I shuffle into the kitchen the next morning. Jenna's feeding Lydia at the table and Alaric's at the stove, frying what smells like bacon.

"That's for me to know and you to-"

"Dot dot dot?" Alaric finishes. "You need some new lines."

"I wasn't going to say that, _actually_." I lean back in my chair and fold my hands behind my head. "I was going to tell you to shut the fu-"

"Little ears!" Jenna interrupts, shooting an icy glare my way.

I cringe at Alaric over his wife's head and he rolls his eyes before turning back to the frying pan.

I push myself out of my chair and round the island to the fridge. When I arrived two days ago, Alaric told me to 'make myself at home', but I still felt grossly uncomfortable voluntarily rummaging through their stuff without asking, so I shoot a questioning glance towards my buddy and tilt my head towards the fridge. He rolls his eyes again and nods, and I pull out the jug of juice and grab a glass from the drainer.

When I turn around to lean against the counter, I look over at Lydia and freeze at the item clutched in one of her small hands.

"Where'd you get that?" I ask dumbly, and then I immediately cringe.

Ric glances towards me with a frown. "Huh?"

"Uh, Lydia's Minnie Mouse toy," I say, nodding towards her and trying to sound as disinterested as I possibly can.

"Oh, um, Jenna's niece stopped by this morning," Alaric says distractedly. My stomach twists nervously. "You've heard me talk about Elena, right?"

I take a sip of my juice so I don't have to answer and nod casually.

"She's in town and won it at the carnival last night. Funny we didn't bump into her."

"Hmm," I purse my lips and nod. "No Mickey?"

Both Jenna and Alaric look at me now, and I berate myself mentally for even mentioning it.

"What?" Jenna asks, her eyes inspecting me like a cop would inspect a perp.

"Mickey Mouse?" I shrug and clear my throat, her scrutiny making me nervous. "They usually come in a pair, right?"

Jenna looks at me stupidly. "Uh, no? I mean, Elena mentioned wanting to win them both, but she didn't get around to it or something."

"Ah." I bring my glass up to my mouth to shield my smirk as Jenna looks at Ric like I've gone insane, not even bothering to be discreet about it.

I slide my phone out of my sweatpants pocket and open a new text.

**To: Elena**

_**You separated Minnie and Mickey? Heinous!**_

"I think I'm gonna go shower," I announce, emptying the last of my juice in the sink.

"Sure," Alaric says slowly, and both he and his wife watch me closely as I back out of the kitchen.

I'm halfway up the stairs, the loud whispers of Alaric and Jenna debating whether or not I've gone crazy filling my ears, when my cell vibrates in my pocket.

**From: Elena**

_**Mickey doesn't have room for another woman in his life; he already has me.**_

I resist a smile and saunter into the bathroom while tapping out a reply.

**To: Elena**

_**Does he now? Probably wouldn't approve of you going to breakfast with another man, then?**_

I grab my toothbrush from the cup on the shelf and squeeze a splodge of blue toothpaste onto it. My phone lights up as I pop it in my mouth.

**From: Elena**

_**Probably not, but I'm sure he could be persuaded depending on what was on the menu...**_

I wipe one hand on a towel while simultaneously brushing with the other. I begin replying as fast as I can one-handed.

**To: Elena**

**_The Grill doesn't serve toffee apples this early in the morning. Pancakes a suitable substitution?_**

She doesn't reply immediately, and I most certainly do _not_ lean against the sink and stare at my phone impatiently for several long minutes.

**From: Elena**

_**You've made me an offer I can't refuse :)**_

And she totally Googled that shit, but I can't even find it in myself to care.

* * *

**S/O to somethinprettty for never complaining when I bug her and, no matter how many times I ask, isn't mean to me in the slightest. You should all go and read her fic ****_Fireside_**** - if you aren't reading it already - because, I assure you, it's better written than this.**

**_(T_**_**o the guest reviewer who asked if you'd see more from me after this story: I hope so. I've written/tried to write fic for a long time, but I usually never have the guts to post anything, and whenever I have posted anything, I've always taken it down, but I hope that this is the start of me actually pulling my finger out and having the courage to post my writing publicly. Also it's really lovely that you'd show interest in reading more of my stuff just after one chapter; I hope I didn't disappoint you with this one :)**_


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